Murder On Mustique

by Glenconner Anne

  ‘The opposite, actually. I want you to keep safe.’

  ‘Me too.’ Her smile widens at last. ‘There are plenty more reefs that need my help. You must have suspicions, Solomon. Who do you think’s doing it?’

  ‘The last time Amanda was seen, she was swimming towards the Aqua Dream. I’m not authorised to go aboard, but I went out there a few hours ago to take photos. The two crew members have diplomatic immunity, so they can’t be prosecuted.’

  She shakes her head in disbelief. ‘Can I see the pictures?’

  Lily sits beside him to peer at the images on his phone. One shows the Bayrider speedboat stationed on deck, waiting to be lowered onto the water by a hydraulic pump, but others show the yacht’s interior. The cabins Nile photographed through the portholes are surprisingly modest for such an expensive vessel, with basic wooden furniture, grey linoleum floors, and no luxuries. One of them has diving gear and oxygen cannisters stacked against the wall.

  ‘There’s no sign they’ve hurt anyone,’ she mutters.

  ‘Maybe they bury them on the reef straight away.’

  Lily’s eyes suddenly blink shut. ‘Those bastards might have kept her there. God knows what she suffered, before she died.’

  ‘Dr Pakefield thinks she died instantly, in the water.’

  ‘That’s a small mercy.’

  ‘Tell me about her. I know I’m missing something; I need to understand the link between her and Tommy.’

  ‘She was funny, kind and generous, but not always great at empathy.’

  ‘Arrogant, you mean?’

  ‘Amanda adored her life, but Tommy was more cautious. They could both be self-absorbed. That can make you ignore warning signs, can’t it?’

  Nile shakes his head. ‘My boss wants everyone to believe that Tommy killed her then drowned himself.’

  ‘He was too gentle to do that, even though he was suffering.’ Lily’s eyes cloud over and Nile bites his tongue; he’d forgotten the story about her mother walking into the sea.

  ‘Sorry, that was clumsy of me.’

  ‘I’m normally fine about it, but today’s the anniversary of her death. I always try to keep busy, instead of sitting at home feeling sad.’

  ‘I know how that feels. My mother died young too.’

  He’s surprised by the sympathy in her eyes. Her hand settles on his wrist for an instant, like a butterfly brushing his skin, then she jumps to her feet.

  ‘It’s almost five, I mustn’t be late for Tommy’s memorial.’

  ‘Do you want a lift?’

  ‘Thanks, I’ll just get ready.’

  Lily rushes away, taking the steps two at a time. When she reappears on the terrace five minutes later, she’s wearing a short black dress, high heels, and huge shades covering her eyes. She should be climbing into a limousine, instead of hitching a ride on an old motorbike, but she doesn’t appear to care. When Nile kick-starts the motor Lily’s hands settle on his waist like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

  32

  TIME OPERATES DIFFERENTLY on Mustique. Events always start later than advertised, even memorial services. I’m one of the first to reach the Bamboo Church at 5p.m. but I was keen to escape my tense conversation with Mama Toulaine. I admire her painting, but her otherworldly aura puts me on edge, as if she really can see life’s hazards clearer than the rest of us.

  The church lies inland from Lovell, on a flat stretch of ground. There are no stained-glass windows, vaulted ceilings or steeple, yet the wooden-framed building appears in many visitors’ holiday photos. I have a perfect view of the elephant tree from my seat. The tree’s massive form leans towards my pew, as if the elephant is reaching out his trunk. Everything on Mustique grows on a giant scale because of the climate, including the centipede that crawls across the bench in front of me as mourners arrive. Whoever killed Tommy and Amanda may put in an appearance. They must still be on the island, because no one is free to leave. This is the ideal opportunity to watch for tell-tale behaviour.

  I hurry over to speak to Pastor Boakye once he arrives. He may be a new arrival on Mustique, but he’s already well-liked; the man always looks well-groomed with hair styled in cornrows, his expression earnest. He’s struck me as a force for good, taking youngsters under his wing. His kind smile always reassures me that most problems can be fixed, but his expression is solemn when I inform him of Amanda Fortini’s death. I want him to announce it at the start of the service, so we can commemorate both their lives.

  ‘How can this be happening, in such a quiet place, Lady Vee?’ he murmurs.

  ‘I don’t know, Father, but I wish it would stop.’

  ‘It’s tragic for their families. I’ll pray for them both, I promise.’

  I’ve always found solace from attending church, but praying for Amanda and Tommy seems too little too late as I slip back into my seat.

  Sacha Milburn doesn’t notice me when she hurries down the aisle. The girl is wearing a dark blue dress with a high neck that makes her look like a Victorian governess, its hem trailing the ground. I can tell she’s been crying, but her behaviour at Firefly has stayed in my mind. She was such a sweet young girl, playing with Lily all summer long, but now seems encumbered by worries, as if she’s finding the adult world hard to navigate. The young woman is dabbing her eyes when she sits in the pew opposite, and suddenly my own losses crowd my mind. The last funeral I attended was Princess Margaret’s. She planned every aspect of the ceremony herself, requesting an intimate service for family and close friends in St George’s Chapel at Windsor Castle, with no outsiders to witness our grief. I shut my eyes to recall happier events at the Bamboo Church; weddings held here on a perfect summer day, throwing cups of rice over the bride and groom, instead of confetti.

  It’s a relief when Phillip arrives, clearly recovered from his seasickness. He looks immaculate in a dark linen suit, and always knows how to help me, taking my hand immediately.

  ‘I bring good news from St Lucia. Jasper’s making progress, at last. He was very upbeat on the phone just now,’ he whispers.

  ‘Thank goodness, I’ll catch up with him this afternoon.’

  I’m too interested in watching people arrive to pay full attention to Phillip’s voice. Over half the attendees are from Lovell, and I catch sight of Dex Adebayo, wearing one of his loud Hawaiian shirts, with pink flamingos flying across his chest, but his expression looks less jubilant, and his body language is jittery. Could I have misread him for all these years? Maybe he’s grown to hate the wealthy young visitors he teaches to dive, who can jet off on fresh adventures, while he remains stuck in one place? Dr Pakefield has come to the service after all; he’s sitting in an empty pew, his severe expression scaring people away. I need to tell Nile about his late-night trip to the Aqua Dream, which he’s chosen not to disclose. The medic could have directed all his simmering anger at the island’s youth. He wouldn’t be the first doctor to take lives, instead of saving them.

  My attention focuses on Phillip again; I try to imagine him as the killer, like every other member of the congregation. He’s one of my longest-standing friends, great fun to be around, but incredibly thin-skinned. The poor man suffers agonies if his acting performances are ever criticised. His sensitivity seems to be a blessing and a curse. He’s too quick to empathise, picking up every vibration in the room, like an over-tuned violin string. I know his bisexuality has troubled him over the years too, and his childhood sounds terrible, but he’s given me unconditional support in the thirty years we’ve known each other. He was over on St Lucia helping Jasper the morning Amanda Fortini went missing, so it’s a relief to cross him off the list I’m carrying in my head of potential killers.

  I glance over my shoulder when the pianist begins a quiet tune. All the staff from my villa have turned out for the ceremony. Wesley looks handsome in his black suit, shepherding Jose Gomez into a front pew, in case the gardener should misbehave, my two maids following behind. My butler’s demeanour hasn’t changed over the years. He’s a
lways been immensely dignified, serving my family with professionalism, while maintaining his privacy. Our recent talk in the kitchen is the most candid conversation we’ve held for years.

  Jose Gomez is another matter entirely. My young gardener seemed like a gentle soul, but he’s been behaving strangely and I can’t identify a reason. I feel an odd prickling in my hands when Mama Toulaine sits down at the end of their pew, as if the temperature has just plummeted. She’s still dressed in her vivid outfit, beads and crimson feathers woven into her hair. The artist is an expert on the Obeah symbols left on the pieces of coral. It’s possible that she’s seen more than she’s saying.

  The pastor is standing by the altar, under a large wooden cross. He’s dressed in a starched white chasuble, his manner gentle when he announces Amanda’s death. The whole congregation takes an in-drawn breath, then images of Tommy Rothmore appear on a battery-powered projection screen, reminding me of his golden-haired boyhood. Photos show him leaping into the sea, picnicking with friends, then in evening dress, with his arm draped around Amanda Fortini’s shoulders. The pair look so alike they could almost be brother and sister, two beautiful aristocrats with the world at their feet, who appeared to have no enemies.

  My attention shifts when Phillip nudges me. Lily is arriving late with Solomon; the detective is wearing a smart jacket over his uniform and I’ve never seen her look so comfortable in a man’s company. They choose a pew at the back, sitting side by side. Lily needs someone clever enough to keep her interested, and it’s possible that Nile could tolerate her independent spirit, but I mustn’t speculate. If Lily feels she’s being pushed, she’s sure to run in the opposite direction.

  When Pastor Boakye addresses us, my mind returns to the two victims. The priest exhorts us to celebrate their lives, while mourning their untimely deaths. I catch sight of Dr Pakefield again, the medic keeping his mouth shut while the rest of us sing ‘Amazing Grace’, gazing down at the words in his hymnbook. His manner is still so awkward, I can’t imagine him having the confidence to go on the attack. None of the music stirs me until a young girl from Lovell sings an African prayer unaccompanied, except for birdsong outside. The purity of her voice undoes me at last and I find myself crying for Princess Margaret and the lost ones from my family, as well as Amanda and Tommy, with Phillip still gripping my hand. My friend is stifling his tears like everyone else, except Keith Belmont, who I’ve only just spotted. He’s at the end of our pew, eyes hidden behind dark glasses. I remember him claiming to have revived his faith, and the ugly gold cross hanging round his neck, but his body language frightens me. He’s completely motionless, like a snake waiting to strike.

  33

  NILE WATCHES THE congregation rise when the hour-long service ends. Keith Belmont is first to leave, the musician giving him a short-lived smile before slipping away. Lily is comforting her friend Sacha Milburn, who is the most openly emotional person at the service. The redhead’s odd habit of watching the island’s population keeps her on Nile’s suspect list but right now it would take a leap of imagination to see her as a credible murderer, while she cries uncontrollably.

  The congregation is in no hurry to leave, apart from Jose Gomez. When Nile spots him on the far side of the crowd, Lady Vee’s gardener backs away. Before he can reach him, he’s disappeared into the surrounding trees, leaving Nile with a list of unanswered questions. Staff from the Cotton House have laid out refreshments under the shade of the elephant tree, the refreshments paid for by Lady Vee. The scene looks like an upmarket garden party, and tonight there will be music, drinks and dancing on Britannia beach. It’s a time-honoured tradition on Mustique to celebrate the lives of the dead with parties, instead of bleak funerals.

  Nile is heading outside when Pastor Boakye stops him.

  ‘Can I talk to you please, Solomon?’ The man’s tuneful West African lilt sounds the same, but he looks tenser than before.

  ‘Of course, Father. Let’s find somewhere private.’

  The priest leads him to a deserted spot, overshadowed by tree ferns. Nile notices changes in Boakye’s manner. His hand gestures are twitchy, and a line of sweat is forming on his upper lip. The pastor takes out a handkerchief to blot his forehead before speaking again.

  ‘I should have said this before. Tommy called at my cabin on Sunday night, around 2a.m.’

  ‘The night Amanda’s villa burned down.’

  ‘His speech was slurred, burns all over his clothes. He said someone had attacked him. They’d left curses on his property, carved on pieces of coral. He’d thrown them away, but I could see he was suffering. He thought someone had put an Obeah curse on him, so he could never rest. He kept babbling about the coral. Tommy said it was dying, like him.’

  ‘What did you do?’

  ‘Not enough,’ he says, his eyes blinking shut. ‘He said he was afraid of dying, but after a while he seemed to calm down.’

  ‘Did he say any more about his troubles?’

  ‘He told me his attacker hates the coral. He wants it all to die. I asked who was bullying him, but he was too afraid to name him.’

  ‘That doesn’t make sense.’

  ‘I got Tommy to stay with me, so he wouldn’t be alone while his mind was disturbed. I made up a bed for him on the couch, but by morning he’d vanished, leaving the front door open. That concerned me too.’

  ‘Why’s that?’

  ‘Obeah law is like the old beliefs in Nigeria. They think you should always leave a door or window open, so bad spirits can leave your home freely, without getting trapped. I should have sat up with him till morning. It might have saved his life.’

  ‘It’s not your fault. If someone wanted him dead, they’d have killed him anyway.’

  The priest looks startled. ‘You don’t think it was suicide?’

  ‘I’m a detective, Father. Nothing’s certain until it’s proved.’

  Boakye’s expression is mournful when he vanishes into the crowd, which grows more voluble as the Pimms flows. The priest’s manner is a marked contrast with his congregation. He seems burdened by private troubles he’s unwilling to share, but there’s no time to consider that now. Tonight there will be singing and dancing on the beach, everyone keen to remember two young people’s lives with fun instead of sadness, yet Nile can’t relax until he’s discovered the missing link. When his gaze catches on Lady Vee and Lily he sets off in their direction. The crowd parts like the Red Sea when a man of his stature heads towards them.

  34

  I NO LONGER enjoy wakes, since losing so many loved ones. Death may be life’s one inevitability, but I’d rather not welcome it with open arms. I’m glad of the distraction when Solomon invites Lily and me to the police station. We’ll reach the truth quicker if we all pull in the same direction. Solomon looks like an earnest young teacher instead of a cop when he makes his request, his gold-framed glasses glinting in the sun. It interests me that Lily chooses to ride on his ancient motorbike to the police station, rather than my buggy, so I’m alone when I follow the track towards Lovell.

  When Solomon leads us inside we’re met by a wall of heat, and the odours of cigarette smoke and stale coffee. His gaze is still bright with curiosity when we sit together in the reception area.

  ‘I want us to plan tonight’s party, but this is a good time to share information. Have you found anything new, Lady Vee?’

  ‘Dr Pakefield’s been seen going out to the Aqua Dream in a speedboat, late on Monday night, which breaks his contract. Mustique’s doctor is meant to stay on the island round the clock, in case someone falls ill. Keith Belmont still bothers me too. He seems so sincere one moment, and then creepy the next.’

  ‘We don’t have any evidence against Belmont, but I’ll check on Pakefield soon. How about you, Lily, anything to report?’

  ‘Maybe we’re getting too hung up on the coral. The symbols he carves could matter even more.’

  ‘Mama Toulaine explained their meaning today,’ I say. ‘The crossed arrows symbolise the death
god, Gede, and the open cup is the god of life. The spider’s web mean someone’s getting in your way.’

  ‘That’s interesting,’ Nile replies. ‘The death sign was left at Tommy and Amanda’s homes, but the life sign was at Keith Belmont’s. The one left outside your bedroom door was a spider’s web, wasn’t it, Lily?’

  ‘So I’m blocking his way, but there’s a chance I’ll stay alive,’ she says, with a shaky laugh. ‘That’s good to know.’

  ‘It could be someone from Lovell, steeped in the old folklore,’ says Nile. ‘Or a villa owner, trying to camouflage themselves.’

  ‘Mama told me Dex Adebayo believes in Obeah.’

  ‘His only alibi is his wife’s claim that he was with her when the villa burned, so I’ll be keeping an eye on him. We still haven’t worked out who broke into Eden House on Saturday night. It’s likely to be someone who knows your property intimately. Jose Gomez has been behaving oddly, hasn’t he?’

  I shake my head. ‘He’s vulnerable, but he loves working in the gardens, and until recently he’s been a model employee.’

  ‘But now he’s changed, Lady Vee. He’s been following you and Phillip, and maybe Lily too. Whenever I get close he runs away.’

  Lily looks unconvinced. ‘Jose’s been volunteering on my boat, so I let him work on shallow sections of the reef, with a snorkel and mask. He showed a real skill for grafting, but he hasn’t shown up at the harbour all week.’

  I catch sight of what’s written in Nile’s notebook while he speaks. It’s a list of names, with Jose’s at the top, followed by Keith Belmont, Simon Pakefield and Dex Adebayo. The words ‘Aqua Dream’ are scrawled at the bottom. It almost matches the set of suspects I’m carrying in my head. Solomon passes me his phone, showing me photos of the Aqua Dream’s interior, which is far plainer than I expected. Mega-yachts are normally decked out in ultra-modern style, with sleek bespoke furniture and exquisite light fitments, but this one has lino floors and wooden store cupboards lining the walls. It looks too simple to please a billionaire’s tastes.